Magic's Promise (40 page)

“
The boy wouldn't hurt anybody, and especially not me,
”
he insisted stubbornly.
“
I know it, damn it, I just
know
it!
”

“
Forgive me, but I'd rather not take the chance,
”
Savil said dryly.
“
I hate picking up my acquaintances in palm-sized pieces. We've eaten this particular bird down to bones; let's let things simmer for a bit, and let's do something about dinner.
”

“
Gods.
”
Vanyel slid off the stool, held out his hands and watched them shake with a certain bemusement.
“
I
just ate,
and after this to-do, my stomach should be in knots. Instead, I could eat a cow.
”

“
Don't fill up,
”
Savil cautioned him, as they left Jervis mulling over the unpleasant things he'd heard.
“
There's Harvestfest tonight.
”

“
What?
”
He looked at her, bewildered.
“
Harvest - can't be - oh, gods -
”

He counted up the passing days in his mind, and when he arrived at
today,
he could feel the blood draining out of his face.
“
Oh, gods. It's Sovvan. I lost track of time...
”
He stopped dead in the path, legs gone leaden, mind gone numb. Sovvan-night. Year's turning.

The night Tylendel had died.

Coming on top of all the rest of it - exhaustion, confusion, the verbal fight with Jervis -

It was too much. What little emotional balance he had left evaporated so quickly that he felt dizzy, as if he was dangling over a precipice.

His internal turmoil must have been mirrored clearly on his face. Savil moved closer to him, brows knitting in concern.
“
Van-
ke 'chara-
let it go. You aren't helping yourself by brooding.'' She put her arm around his shoulders.
“
Go down to the barns with the others. I'm going to -
“

He scarcely felt it. All he could see was -

-
a crumpled, lifeless shape.

He clamped an iron control down over his face. “That's not something I can do,
”
he replied stiffly.
“
I can't forget,
especially
not tonight. I won't ever forget...
”

“
Then, for the gods' sake, for your
own
sake, find something to distract you-music, dancing -
”

“
No, Savil.
”
He pulled away from her, and forced himself to walk steadily toward the keep.
“
You deal with grief your way, and leave me to deal with it in mine.
”

“
But -
“

He shook his head stubbornly, unwilling to say more, and not sure that he could.
Forget 'Lendel? How can I forget
-
how can I ever forget?

Oh, 'Lendel -

There was only one place where he could escape the sounds of celebration; the stone porch on the north side of the keep. All other interests had vanished when he realized what night it was; now all he wanted was solitude.

The lingering warmth of this fall had fooled him, usually. Sovvan-tide was marked by ice-edged rains and bitter winds.

Like the storm that night
-

Usually he tried to find something useful to do - like stand guard-duty, or spell someone at courier, or even take the place of one of the Guardians watching the Web. Anything, so long as it was work, and didn't involve interacting with people, only serving them.

He'd completely forgotten that he'd be spending Sovvan here, in presumed idleness; leisure that would only give him the opportunity to remember how utterly alone he was.

It hadn't been this bad the first few years; in the first two, in fact, there had been moments when he thought he'd felt that treasured and familiar presence waiting, watching. But as the years passed - and it became clear that he was and would
always
be alone, Sovvan-night had become an occasion for profound depression unless he was
very
careful not to give in to it.
This
Sovvan-night bid fair to be an ordeal; he was too exhausted, and too shaken, to put up any kind of fight against himself.

He watched the sun die in glory; watched the stars come out, flowering against the velvet sky. He closed his eyes when the sparks of white began to waver in his vision, and struggled anyway in a losing battle against self-pity and heartache.
I've wept enough; tears won't ease this, they'II only make it worse. I wish I was being Valdir. I wish I was back at Haven.

He thought briefly of Yfandes, and rejected the notion of going to her. She couldn't help him, much as he loved her. Her presence would only serve as a reminder of how much he had lost to gain her.

I
need something to keep me occupied. Savil was right about that. Something that will take concentration.

There was only one task he knew that could possibly fill all his thoughts, take all his attention.
Magic. I’ll build some illusions, good, tight ones. I can use the practice. I
need
the practice.

He perched on the edge of one of the stone benches, the gritty granite warm from the sun it had absorbed this afternoon, and concentrated on a point just in front of him.
People, they're hardest. Starwind. He's vivid enough.

He closed his eyes, and
centered.

It took very little to cast an illusion, just a wisp of power, and he didn't even need to take it from his reserves. The ambient energy around him was enough. He visualized a vibrant column of light growing in the air in front of him, then began forming the shapeless energy into an image, building it carefully from the feet up. Green leather boots, silky green breeches, and sleeveless tunic, all molding to a tall, slender, wiry body. Implicit strength, not blatant. Waist-length silver hair, four braids in the front, the rest falling free down his back, a cascade of ice-threads. Golden skin. Then the face: pointed chin, high cheekbones, silver - blue eyes with a wisdom and humor lurking in them that could not be denied, and a smile just hovering at the edge of the thin lips.

He opened his eyes - and before him stood the
Tayledras
Healer-Adept Starwind k'Treva.

For one moment he had it; perfect in every detail.

Then the hair shortened and darkened to curly blond, the face squared, and the eyes began warming and darkening to a soft and gentle brown.

His heart contracted, and he banished the illusion and began another, quickly: Savil. This one started to go wrong from the very beginning, and with a gasp of pain, he wiped it out and started on a third. Not even a human this time - one of the little lizards that served the
Tayledras,
the
hertasi.

But the
hertasi
began growing taller, and developed blond hair.

“
Oh,
gods -”
He banished the third illusion, and buried his face in his hands, shaking in every limb and battling against grief.

This
-
this is the worst Sovvan I've ever had,
he thought, feeling sorrow tearing at his chest until it hurt to breathe.
It's the worst since you died. Oh, 'Lendel,
ashke,
I
can't bear it, and I have no choice! I'm so tired, so very tired-my balance is gone. And, to know it's going to go on like this, year after year, alone...

I don't know how to cope anymore. I don't know how anyone can be this lonely and still be sane. . . . I don't even know how sure I am of myself. I thought
you
were the only person I could ever love, but this business with Shavri has me all turned 'round about. And Tashir
-
I
came so close to giving in to temptation with him...

All I
am
certain of is that I need you as much as I ever did. And I'd give anything to have you back.

He bit his lip and tasted the sweet-salt of blood; took his hands away from his face, and willed his eyes open. Nightshadows of leafless trees moved ebony against charcoal; the last frost had killed the insects, and the birds had mostly flown south by now. There was no sign of anything alive out there; just barren shadows dark as his soul, as empty as his heart.

A wisp of glow drifted in the air in front of him, and he gave in to his anguish, to the perverse need to probe at his heartache.

To hell with it
-
how can I hurt any more than I do now? And everything I try turns to 'Lendel. Not Shavri
-
which ought to have told me
who
I
love more.

Once again he closed his eyes and began to build a new illusion, one formed with passionate care, and at a level of detail only love could have discerned in the original. The way that one lock of gold-brown sunstreaked hair used to fall - just touching the eyebrow. The depth of the clear, brown eyes, sometimes sable, sometimes golden, but so bottomless you could lose yourself in them. The square chin, so - high cheekbones, so - the generous mouth, so ready to smile or laugh, the strong pillar of the neck. Shoulders ready to take the weight of the world's troubles. Body of a fighter or a dancer; gentle hands of a healer - It didn't take long, now that he was no longer fighting with himself.

Oh, Tylendel -

Vanyel looked up to see his handiwork, and sobbed, once, reaching out involuntarily to touch empty air.

The illusion was nothing less than heartbreakingly perfect. The Tylendel of the joyous days of their one summer together stood before him, so
alive
Vanyel fancied he could see him breathing, that in a moment he would speak.

And I could do that, too; I could make him breathe and talk to me. No, I couldn't bear that. It's hollow enough as it is. Oh, gods, why? 'Lendel -

Someone gasped behind him, and as he started and lost control of it, the illusion shattered, exploded outward into a hundred thousand glittering little bits that rained down and vanished, melting away before they touched the pale stone of the porch. Vanyel whipped around to see a dark and indistinct shape beside the black hole of the door.

“
Who's there?
”
he snapped, hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“
What do you want?
”

“
I-it's Tashir.
”
The young man came toward him hesitantly.
“
Medren told me you were back. I wondered where you were. Where you've been.
”

Depression abruptly became anger at being disturbed, and the desire to hurt fountained in him. He wanted someone,
anyone,
any creature at all, to suffer inside as much as he did at this moment. He
knew
it was base; knew that Tashir would be an easy target, and that he
could
hurt him. He hated the desire even as he felt it, and it sickened him as much as he wanted it. He fought it down, but the anger remained, red and sullen. This
young man, for whom Vanyel had been risking his life, had been undermining everything he'd built here. It wasn't just that Tashir had been lying; it was that what he had told Jervis had come close to destroying the fragile beginnings of friendship that had cost both of them so much pain and soul-searching to create, had set them at each other's throats like enemies, and had left them, once again, uneasy and grudging allies at best.

“
I've been finding out the truth,
”
he said softly.
“
While
you
seem to have been busy trying to hide it.
”
The anger blossomed, and he briefly lost control over it, just long enough that he growled a single sentence.

“Why did you lie to Jervis?”

“
I didn't!
”
Tashir's voice cracked as Vanyel rose and walked toward him, one hand flaring with mage-light. The blue light reflected off Tashir's face, revealing the youngster's surprise and growing fear. The young man's eyes widened, his expression froze, and he backed away from the Herald step by forced step. He didn't stop until his thighs hit the stone railing and Vanyel had him backed into a corner with nowhere to go.

“
You did,
”
Vanyel whispered.
“
All those stories you told him about your perfect, loving family - that's all they were, stories. Lies. I've been in Highjorune, Tashir. I spent the last fortnight there, talking to people. One of them was your mother's maid, Reta.
”

The branches of the bushes nearest Tashir began to thrash as if tossed by a wind, though not a breath of air stirred anywhere else. Vanyel didn't have to see them to know that the young man had unleashed his Gift in panic. He let it go for a moment, waiting to see how violent Tashir would become. Fallen leaves whirled up in a mad dance to engulf both of them, beating at Vanyel ineffectually. But with nothing more at hand to work with than leaves, the attack wasn't even a distraction. Vanyel savagely clamped down on the young man with a shield not even an Adept could have cracked, and the leaves drifted back down to the ground and the porch.